Remember, Remember
by Hannah Lynn McDonald
Summary: 1966 - Abigail and Adam discuss WWII and what Adam did in it. Warning - implied rape of side character that is literally unnoticeable unless you read between the lines.


_11, November, 1967_

* * *

She was sitting in the swing beneath the tree; watching the sun rise and glint off the frosted grass and buildings. She turned when she heard the door of the house open and slam shut again, smiling when she saw Charles come out carrying two large mugs of hot chocolate. She pulled off her gloves to accept one mug when he reached her, wrapping her fingers around the hot glass as he sat beside her.

"Good morning, Abigail."

She breathed in the steam, closing her eyes for a moment. "Thank you, Charles." There was a purr; and she opened her eyes to see Phillip winding through the frosted grass, wrapping around Charles' feet. The man sniffed disparagingly at the cat, but reached down to pet it regardless.

She let the warmth of her drink seep into her fingers, smelling a hint of smoke in the air as the fires began to heat the house. Beside her, he was muttering something to the cat, and she could pick up a few of the Latin words he used.

"Do you know what day it is today, Charles?"

He looked up, still bent over to pet the greedy cat's head. "I believe it is the eleventh of November."

She was watching the sunrise again, watching colours pain the sky and then fade away. "Isaac was so happy – so unaware of the fate he had miraculously escaped and the war being fought around him. He only knew to smiled and laugh, that there would always be someone ready to hold him."

He stopped stroking the cat for a moment; and it butted its head against his hand, demanding more attention.

"John was...enamoured. Either with me or with Isaac -" She smiled, "it didn't seem to matter. We were one and the same in his eyes: if he saw the boy, he looked for me; and if he knew where I was, he assumed the child was nearby."

He sat up, testing the temperature of his drink and wincing when it burnt his finger.

"John couldn't decide if he wanted to stay or go help – or fight – on the frontlines. We held him back, Isaac and I did – but we also lifted him up." The smile faded slightly. "He frightened me then, full of secrets and fear and experience – although we probably terrified him just as much..."

The cat jumped into Charles' lap, and he nearly dropped his hot chocolate in surprise. Phillip turned around once, rubbing his head on his master's chest, before settling down in a ball on the Immortal's lap. Charles shook his head slightly in amusement before lightly stroking the white cat. "Were you not on the front lines then?"

She shook her head. "I would not let them take the child to an orphanage to be left alone – he had been through enough – and John would not leave us. We treated the wounded as they were sent back, not as they were retrieved." She carefully took a sip of her drink, smirking when Charles frowned at her. "And where were you?"

He sighed, ignoring his drink and looking away. "I was almost in Berlin when the ceasefire was called. Not by force or accident – I wished to be there. To take something back for all those that did not walk from the camps – that escaped by ways blocked from me." He looked up to the sunrise. He could feel her frowning at him, but did not acknowledge it. "There were others, innocents, who were destroyed by the camps while I walked away – it was not right and the least I could do was tear down their city and their homes and their lives as they tore down so many others. It would have been simple enough to enter – the Russians were not exacting in their requirements..."

He twisted his hand around the cup, and his other hand stilled on Phillip. "There was a child in Auschwitz when it was liberated. A lovely child – doomed to die, certainly, as infants served no purpose. He had no name there – his parents lost before it mattered and none others to care about it. Some Simiel, little though it mattered – wishful thinking at the most. It meant 'whom the Lord maketh grow old'." His eyes still stared at the burning sunrise, but she did not think he saw it anymore.

Her hand hovered over his for a moment before gently touching it. "Why were you not brought back as well?"

He smiled slightly, mockingly. "And by what do you know that I was not? Charles is hardly my first name, dear." He met her eyes for a moment before looking away again. "When the soldiers found the infant, I left. It was a simple task to take a uniform; and either out of fear or gratefulness, none questioned an Allied soldier searching through the rubble of towns."

"That was a few months before Berlin fell – certainly enough for you to recover..."

"Would you have liked to hear that I was there – no. You do not know me." He paused and then repeated as if to remind himself of it: "You do not know me..."

"No, I don't." She took another sip, enjoying the rich drink. "I would like to think that you weren't there, but I can't fault you for wanting that."

"Perhaps not... But you were not there before nor after." He leaned back fully in the swing, and a smile flitted across his face again. "There was a little girl – Maria. She had a kitten – a terribly scrawny thing with no flesh to speak of – and she would carry that creature with her everywhere. The kitchen, the bedroom, the school...she could not be convinced to let it go. The boys called it 'Lammchen' – the little lamb. She went back to fetch her kitten when she dropped it and she was shot and trampled leaving the ghetto.

"There was young man that lived in the apartment below – Josef. His mother was ill and he cared for her. He cleaned the house for her and did the shopping with money he earned from others on the street before and after school – he would have foregone his education entirely, but he was determined to complete it to support his mother. He was beaten and shot for going out after curfew to fetch medicine for his mother when she had an attack.

"Adina was expecting her first child – her husband David was ecstatic about it. He had nearly five names for the child – be it girl or boy. She grew more every day if he were to be believed, and I do not believe there was a man at his workplace that did _not_ know of his wife's condition. She was content to let him speak for her – content to pray for the unborn child and it's life." He closed his eyes, swallowing. "She never left her home. They shot her husband in their bed and took her there. A gunshot would have been more merciful."

Abigail stared at him in silence, not certain how to respond or where to begin with that.

He was silent, still looking to the now risen sun; but then he continued. "There was Elsa beside me, Jakob above, Susanna across, the newborn twins Marthe and Salomon, Frieda, Izaak, Markus, Samuel, Karl, Johan, Benjamin, Juda, Lea, Rachel... There were so many more with names and houses – with kittens and dolls and elder siblings and amused parents and friends and aunts and so many precious things and futures torn violently from them." He breathed in sharply. Slowly, he leaned forward to rest his head upon his head, a sad smile twisting his lips as his eyes closed. "I did not go to Berlin, Abigail, because there was a child in one of the towns – a little girl named Marta. She had a brown kitten on her lap, long dead but it was her pet and she thought it was sleeping. She had light blonde hair and wore a velvet dress. She was the daughter of the people that had murdered Maria.

"I was not in Berlin because I was finding her a family."

She looked away, out to the sun burning the sky blue again. November eleventh – Armistice Day. Remembrance or Veteran's Day for others. It was a day to remember those living that served in war, certainly – but for those that had lived through several wars, perhaps it only served to remind him of those he had fought for and with, and those he had lost. There were too many stories glossed over in history – too many names lumped together in tales. So many had been lost that sometimes it didn't seem worth it to remember the survivors.

"The child – Simiel. He is nearly twenty-two. He is as happy as he was as an infant and he can always find reason to laugh. He is strong – a son any father would be proud of.

* * *

 _AN: Originally? This was entered merely as a memorial for veterans – for the people that fought and served around battles – and the end merely pointed out that I do not think women should serve as soldiers. And then I entered this in and it sort of...Well, I tried to fill in the plot holes here and instead got another rambling diatribe on WWII and the Holocaust._ _ **Sighs**_ _Oh well – the days for remembering veterans usually bring to mind those lost anyway... Here, Abigail does not call Henry and Abraham by their names, determined to keep their secret. She calls Henry 'John' and Abraham 'Isaac'. 'Simiel' is the name Adam gave Abraham, because I don't see how the child's true name would have been remembered and gotten through to Abigail and Henry. Written for Veterans Day._ _11-11-2015_


End file.
